move that made her muscles ripple and her skin shimmer and her tits jiggle.
For a moment, Dev’s attention fractured, zeroing in on the way her skin glowed beneath the bright wash of light coming from the lamp on the nightstand beside them.
But all too quickly, the possessive jealousy reared up again. Along with the unpleasant realization that she kept in contact with someone who’d shared her bed…who knew the contours of her body…who’d probably seen her naked skin glowing countless times in the past.
Grimacing, he battened down the ugly green monster trying to ambush his brain with a sudden injection of the primitive beast.
“We’ve kept it civil for Cassidy’s sake.”
It was her tone that caught his attention first. The forced casualness. The caution. But then the name registered.
The implications of that name hit him hard. A vicious punch to the gut. He froze.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Cassidy?” Let it be a dog. Let her ex be watching her dog. He could live with that. He could live with a dog.
“My daughter. Ronnie and I share custody.”
Her explanation was a second jab to his gut. Only harder. Crueler.
She wasn’t as old as him, maybe in her early thirties. Which meant this daughter of hers couldn’t be that old either. The realization lit a fire in his chest. Like he’d been hit with an RPG.
His cock wilted. He rolled away from her, onto his back, and stared at the shadowy ceiling with burning eyes.
A daughter. She had a daughter.
He dragged his arm out from beneath her back and laid it across his eyes, trying to lock the memories down…but one squeezed through.
“One more time, Daddy!” Shrieks of childish laughter climbed the air. The flash of raven black hair. A Christmas tree twinkling in the corner of the living room. Sparkling eyes of such a deep, dark brown they often looked black locked on his face. Chubby white arms wrapped around his neck. The scent of baby powder…and pine sap.
He shut the memory down. But not fast enough to prevent the bolt of agony…of raw, burning loss.
“Are you okay?” Madeline asked, concern in her voice.
The hand she settled on his chest burned. Only not in a good way. Not with erotic fire. But with corrosive, acidic grief.
His lungs felt seared, like each breath was coming through a vat of flames.
More memories crowded the edges of his mind. He grimly forced them back. Sealed off the crevices. Fortified the cracks.
Fuck. I have to get out of here.
He didn’t say anything because there wasn’t anything to say. Instead, he rolled away from her, swung his legs off the mattress and stood. She watched him dress in silence. But he could feel her eyes on him. Feel her questions throbbing in the charged air.
It wasn’t until he grabbed his boots and headed for the bedroom door that she spoke. “That’s it? You’re going to walk out without a word?”
Her voice was sharp. Full of disgust and disbelief. Hell, he couldn’t blame her. Two nights of sex followed by a silent bailing was not cool. It was a dick move. He knew that.
But he couldn’t stay here, not one second more. Not with the memories threatening to break through the walls and drown him. Not when she was off limits now.
He paused with his back to her, not wanting to see the disgust in her eyes. Not wanting that memory to haunt him, along with all the others. For a while she’d held the nightmares at bay. Now the memory of her would just add to his nightly cargo. Which made him want to pound something, slam his fists against the wall until they were bloody and broken. Until the physical pain superseded the mental and brought him some relief.
If not relief, at least peace. At least for a while.
But he owed her something. A hint of explanation.
“I don’t do kids.” His voice was flat…cold…empty, the words echoing through the yawning pit inside him.
“You don’t even know her, you ass.” She didn’t sound pleading. More like pissed. Utterly furious. “She’s a great kid.”
He didn’t doubt that. But it didn’t matter.
Without looking back, he walked away.
He didn’t do kids. Not even great ones. Not anymore.
Every inch of Madeline Roux felt scorched, liked she’d been dragged behind a car for miles and the road rash had shredded her skin and burned right down to her internal organs.
“What did this new PI say?” her sister Marguerite asked. Her brown eyes, which were the exact same shade and shape as Maddie’s own, were